Chapter Seventeen
I sat down, my head reeling. What an imbecile I had been! How could I have been so blind? A hundred and one scenes from the past few days raced through my mind: a mysterious conversation at dinner; Rosamund’s radiant look as she and Bobs returned from a walk together; a photograph in the newspaper—the meaning of them all suddenly became perfectly clear to me. Had everybody known about it except me? Of course, Sylvia must have known. It was inevitable—after all, Bobs was her brother and Rosamund her friend. Sir Neville, it appeared, had known and accepted it. The others probably suspected it if they did not know for certain. The remembrance of my own monstrous error of only a few minutes ago now flooded upon me and I felt the blood rush hot across my face. It already seem
